


A story of morning cuddles and serious talks

by Lesatha



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 22:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3585795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lesatha/pseuds/Lesatha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Now, we can have a serious talk,” Ragnar says. “Tell me about Paris.” </p><p>Athelstan props himself on one elbow, casting him a disbelieving stare. </p><p>“Paris isn't a serious talk. It's your bedtime story.”</p><p>“Please.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A story of morning cuddles and serious talks

Ragnar wakes up to the feeling of the mattress shifting beside him. He cracks an eye open, just enough to spot Athelstan sneaking out of bed, a fur wrapped around him. Ragnar briefly considers dragging him back to bed, but his limbs are too heavy to move. He smiles to himself, his mind drifting to the memories of their shared night. It is a wonder Athelstan can even walk.

 

Ragnar pillows his head on his forearms, staring at Athelstan who is now dropping the fur with a shudder, his skin a bright contrast with the dim morning light. Ragnar licks his lips without even thinking about it when Athelstan bends forwards, reaching for a small basin. He splashes water on his face, then grabs a cloth and dips it into the basin. Ragnar knows what’s next, knows exactly in which order Athelstan is going to wash his body. Neck, arms, chest, legs. Ragnar has seen him do it so many times; he could close his eyes and follow his routine without watching. He does, for a few seconds, but he can’t resist for long.

 

When Ragnar lays eyes upon Athelstan again, his lover is twisting his body to reach the back of his thighs, scraping the tender flesh with his nails. If the sun were a little higher in the sky and Athelstan closer to the window, Ragnar knows what he would see on his skin. Thin stripes of dried come, almost invisible, yet Ragnar could stare at it all day long. One day he tried to stop Athelstan from washing them, which only earned him a stern look.

 

“I know you’re awake,” Athelstan says, rubbing the cloth on his thighs with deliberate slowness.

 

Ragnar rolls towards the edge of the bed, not bothering to hide his smirk now that he has been discovered.

 

“I’m cold,” he whines. It isn’t a total lie –Ragnar does miss Athelstan’s warmth. “Come on, you’re clean now. Come back to bed.”

 

Athelstan shakes his head, squeezing the cloth over his buttocks until some water trickles on his curved cheeks. He is looking down on purpose, but he can’t hide his grin from Ragnar.

 

“I won’t stay clean for long if I do that,” Athelstan counters.

 

Ragnar buries his face in the furs with a high-pitched grunt, waiting for the chuckles likely to follow. He isn’t disappointed.

 

“Are you going to throw a kingly tantrum?” Athelstan laughs.

 

“Yes,” Ragnar answers, voice muffled but still carrying a petulant tone.

 

“Perhaps we can find some compromise, then.”

 

Ragnar raises his head, expecting to find Athelstan closer to the bed, but no. The damn tease is taking his time stretching the cloth over the back of a chair, smoothing it with his palm, giving it his undivided attention. Is it bad to be jealous of a cloth?

 

“Your king needs you more than this dirty thing,” Ragnar declares.

 

At last, Athelstan picks up the fur he abandoned earlier and wraps it low on his hips as he walks back to the bed. Now that he is almost within arm reach, Ragnar notices finger-shaped marks on his hipbones, which makes his cock twitch just so.

 

“I believe my king needs rest above everything else,” Athelstan replies, stopping in front of Ragnar. “He has barely slept these past nights.”

 

“Come here, you cocky little–”

 

Ragnar reaches for the fur, yet his fingers only graze it as Athelstan hops away with a laugh. The younger man runs towards the foot of the bed, dropping the fur in the process. It is a well-known game between them, one that makes Ragnar look forward every new morning. The Northman springs up in a crouch, trying to guess on which side of the bed Athelstan is going to dive. He pushes the covers away, securing his stance on the mattress.

 

“I just want cuddles,” Ragnar says, extending his arms.

 

“Cuddles are a distraction,” Athelstan replies.

 

“We can cuddle and have serious talks. I have mastered that art long ago.”

 

Athelstan nods in a way that says, _oh, I know_ , a second before he darts to the left. Ragnar lunges forward and wraps his arms around Athelstan’s waist, making both of them fall on the mattress.

 

“You didn’t really try, did you?”

 

“No,” Athelstan admits, immediately curling against Ragnar’s chest.

 

Ragnar throws a fur over both of them, resolute to savour every minute they have before Kattegat needs him.

 

“Now, we can have a serious talk,” Ragnar says. “Tell me about Paris.”

 

Athelstan props himself on one elbow, casting him a disbelieving stare.

 

“Paris isn't a serious talk. It's your bedtime story.”

 

“Please.”

 

“We talked about it last night.”

 

Athelstan is grinning despite his solemn tone, and Ragnar knows he has already won. It is only another game.

 

“Last night doesn’t count,” the Northman replies.

 

“Oh. Why is that?”

 

“It doesn’t count when it happens during sex. I was too distracted. Besides, sometimes it was hard to distinguish your words from your moans.”

 

“Then I shall tell you again.”

 

Athelstan rolls above Ragnar, plastering their chests together and bracing his elbows on each side of Ragnar’s head.

 

“I’ve only been there once,” he begins, just like every time they talk about Paris. “It is an amazing city, rising out of the water.”

 

His voice becomes dreamy, as if the memory still enraptured him after so many years.

 

“I had never seen anything like it,” Athelstan adds, running his fingers on Ragnar’s lower lip. “It has huge walls protecting buildings made of fine marble. Incredible churches, bigger than the ones we have in England. I could hear the clamour of their bells throughout the whole city.”

 

Ragnar lets out a satisfied smile, Athelstan’s words echoing in his mind.

 

“Why does Paris interest you so much?” Athelstan asks, hands moving to trace Ragnar’s head tattoos.

 

“It sounds like a fascinating city. And you seem to like it.”

 

“I enjoyed the time I spent there, yes.”

 

Ragnar searches his eyes for a while, not really knowing what he is looking for. In the end he shrugs, running a hand along Athelstan’s back.

 

“Maybe we will raid new territories next year.”

 

Athelstan cocks his head, eyes sparkling. Sparkling like the waters surrounding Paris, Ragnar is sure of that.

 

“It is a _huge_ city,” Athelstan reminds him.

 

“I could take it for you.”

 

Athelstan sucks in a sharp breath and for a split second, Ragnar fears he scared him.

 

“What do you think?” Ragnar asks.

 

“That you do need more sleep.” Athelstan pauses, worrying his lower lip between his teeth.

 

“But you wouldn’t mind a stroll in the streets of Paris?”

 

Athelstan laughs, lying down on Ragnar.

 

“No, I wouldn’t.”

 

“Good. I believe that’s it for our talk.”

 

Ragnar settles his hands on Athelstan’s lower back, feeling him shiver at the contact. That, and something hard poking at his stomach. The Northman chuckles, his hands sliding lower.

 

“Oh well,” Athelstan says. “I guess I’ll just have to wash again.”


End file.
